Long Contractors Poems
Long Contractors Poems. Below are the most popular long Contractors by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Contractors poems by poem length and keyword.
Pumping water out of the Florida grounds.
Is more complex than you think it sounds.
For over forty years a team has tackled it.
Growing and scaling a service that’s legit.
Old fashioned morals that are rare to see.
They’re emphasizing satisfaction and quality.
High integrity and standards to avoid a fight.
By only billing customers for a job done right.
There’s no games or schemes to earn a buck.
No upset customers feeling down on their luck.
Just repeat orders and great word of mouth.
A rarity among companies in Florida’s south.
Finish Faster is the motto for good reasons.
Since the jobs are expedited in all 4 seasons.
From consult to equipment pickup, it’s quick.
Customers choosing this team love their pick.
When clearing out massive gallons of water.
In parts of the county where it can’t get hotter.
With the options to buy, but typically to rent.
Developing the best systems and equipment.
Learning the right materials and tools per task.
Are fair questions for every customer to ask.
No marketing or advertising to get its clients.
Winning business by reputation makes sense.
Users try the competition and then come back.
Since it’s safer inside the Holland Pump pack.
So whether it’s on a job to excavate or drain.
When using these guys contractors avoid pain.
Going with the competition would seem insane.
A relationship with Holland is one to maintain.
THREATS FROM MAFIA HITMAN FROM DETROIT FAKING HIS DEATH TO IMPERSONATE MY FATHER THE SON OF A MASONIC TEMPLE MEMBER 33 AND 3RD CHICAGO CHAPTER DUR TO PETERS GARGANO TIES TO MILWAUKEE DRUG OPERATION HE HIRED HITMAN TO MURDER ME TODAY I AM BLESSED I AM SAFE FROM THE GARGANO CRIME FAMILY OF WISCONSIN KKK MEMBERS KNIGHTS OF COLUMBUS TREASURY OF THE KNIGHTS OF COLUMBUS FALSIFYING HELL IN EARTH PETER IGNITED A CAR BOMB BLOWING UP MY BRAINS HE THEN GATHERS STRIPPERS TO IMPERSONATE ME ALONG WITH MY ABUSIVE EX HUSBAND ARSON MURDERER OF VICTIM 9 THE HOMELESS MAN ON SHERIDAN RD TORCHED CAB COMPANY EMCO CHEMICALS IMAGING CAMPHOR PETROLEUM BASICALLY VICKS ALLOWED A SLOW BURN KILLING THE SLEEPING HOMELESS MAN THE FBI WARNED ME OF THE GARGANO KLANSMENS TORCHING ELDERLY PERSONS ALIVE CORRUPTION LANDS SWEEPING THE ASHES UNDER FBI INFORMANT FILES ARLINGTON HEIGHTS CHICAGO SO NO I WILL NEVER EVER FEAR .Y ABUSIVE EX HUSBAND HELP PETER GARGANO TO EXTORT MY TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY CLAIM INTO SHELL CONSTRUCTION CARPENTERS HOME BUILDERS SCUM FRAUD COMPANIES IN WISCONSIN DRYWALL TILE PAYING CASH LAUNDERING PETERS DRUG OPERATION INTO CONTRACTORS PAYING ALL THE EMPLOYEES IN CASH IN DRUGS FINALLY FALSIFYING FALSE FRAUDULENT TOTALLY TAX EVASION PETER GARGANO ALSO FAKING HIS DEATH TO EMBEZZLE A TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY CLAIM ON MY BEHALF STOP SENDING ME TERRORIST THREATS MASONIC TEMPLE POST OFFICE KNIGHTS OF THE ROUND TABLE 33 AND A 3RD NO FEAR OF KNIGHTS OF COLUMBUS KKK GARGANO CRIME FAMILY BURNING INNOCENT BEINGS ALIVE
Hey, never mind the hundred thousand folks
you'd have to keep for decades in the dark -
the sub-contractors, cleaners, office clerks.
Hey, never mind the billions such a hoax
would cost (to really go there works out cheaper!)
Don't give a thought to scammers, media whores,
and all those earnest, honest whistle-blowers,
who gagged to play heroic brother's-keepers
and get on Charlie Rose. Don't tax your wits
by wondering how a monumental lie
could hope to last, or even wonder why
someone would want to try it. Think of this.
In early summer, nineteen sixty-nine,
the Soviet Union hated Uncle Sam.
If there had been a smidgeon of a scam,
the Russians would have formed a clamoring line
of hackers, trackers, eggheads and the rest
to tell the waiting world, "it isn't so!
Our satellites confirm, they didn't go!"
But they said nothing. There's your acid test.
Musing through its morning haze, the jungle mountain begs for my infatuation. A nearby dog fails to resume its circular rhetoric and something closes the eye. Silence descends like fresh oil, drizzling through my rebellious long hair and down across my zippered lips. My kingdom can go to hell. Behind the closed another opens as the child hears the jungle morning shift talking to Aioue about today’s purity. A minimalist’s symphony. In suspended moments, I am the mountain. I don’t need Jesus. I am Jesus. Neither son nor father, husband or mystic. I am. Silence drips down like fresh oil. Virgin nectar. One dangling drop at the end of my nose, mightily pausing the unsilent inevitable.
A ticking clock or a buggered marriage. Another dog mounts its bully pulpit. Cigarette smoke from the contractors next door gang rape the virgin jungle jasmine. The party is over.
Was it besmirchment or carnal knowledge?
Innocence is lost
Or reality is found
I cannot say which
Rob the Plumb Bob
True upright, Honest vertical,
Forthright citizen, If criticized, Unfair!,
Assured in Approaching Life's "Hurdle-cal",
Mich's husband devoted, likewise Lucas's Pere,
Spiritual thinker hardly heretical,
Kind, Kind, Kind, never one to scare,
Moral, principled always ethical,
For the NGA, Rob does contractors snare,
Pro at his roles, family & work, nobody's skeptical,
A well travelled road grows no grass...Rob's scalp's losing hair,
Rob's Icelandic blood belies his manner tropical,
Sharing to anyone in need, recipients just stare,
Always generous even when not economical,
Doubt Rob's convictions? Don't you dare!
Does it matter who didn't know?
Let's get on with the show!
War is on the screen.
Better than reality TV,
And it's free!
Feeding us with blood and guts.
Tears flowing from hearts!
No commercial breaks!
Have to keep us up late,
Our appetites will never sate.
Can't afford to have us wait,
For the next gory repast.
How long will this war last?
Will it have another season?
We have had so many in the past.
Who will win?
Before we begin again.
What are the beneficiaries of all this death?
Not you and I!
Certainly not the people who die.
Could it be the contractors that fund the war?
Rebuild again, so we can start one more!
Sochi Scraps
by Odin Roark
Among my pen’s rifling
Hunting its own needs
His imagined snout moves across the page
Seeking out beggary nourishment
A shantytown of doghouses
Provided by an animal-sensitive philanthropist
Fills rapidly with the rush to save
Before pest contractors execute the kill
Collecting their bounty hunter payouts
So goes the life of a stray
Asking but little
A few morsels for staying alive
Needing but a simple discovery
Akin to a poet’s oft times
Elusive syllabic frustration
I stare at the foraging effort
The ink beginning to fill the paper
Becoming my mixed plate of empathy
Abandoned animals can never know
In Olympic Village
Concerned over terrorist threat
Wishing only to stay alive
But another day
Many passersby remain homeless-dog indifferent
Unaware the poison darts
Continue seeking canine nomads
My eyes become blurred
My stylus pauses
I stare at the wall
Imagining Sochi
Or perhaps some other
Abandoned-dog city
Places I’ve never been
Save by make-believe
Ink upon paper
Yet
The howl
The whine
The cry of a frightened animal
Once heard
Is never forgotten…
Save by profiteer-butchers of Sochi
When the stomach of a child
Who has overfed rumbles, it is not
In memory of the empty hands of the past
Or what the future holds in hand
It is to mock hunger by saying all is well for now!
All is not well for tomorrow’s grinding hunger
When the Ministers of chronic poverty
Are the symptomatic children of gluttony.
The politicos eat their fill of the national cake
Down to their kin, while the dry crumbs
Are earmarked for poverty alleviation.
Today, like yesterday immemorial
They formulate policies, sign MOUs
Host conferences, organize seminars
Then publish readymadecopypaste reforms
Before the press and assembly
On how to terminate the gene (ration) of poverty.
But then, await aids, charities
Foreign loans, Sani and Diezani’s loots
Which are then looted again.
Only for the political meme
To procreate poverty, a social gene.
All is not well
When inflation drowns and hunger mounts.
You who eat until your every anatomy become fibroid
And then you say all is well.
Have you ever heard or felt
The roar and bite of empty stomachs
Or the crackling ribs of raving hunger?
And have you felt the hopelessness of trying
To perceive the aroma of tomorrow’s break of fast?
We cannot live by charities
Palliatives and crude empowerment alone
But from every sustainable development
Infrastructures and industrialization.
Our palms cannot always be spread under the sun
Awaiting bronze coin and silver manna.
No more nagging stomachs, colourless eyes
And furrowed brows
No more the darkness distributed by PHC
No more the public wealth shared by NASS
And their fellows, the contractors
No more business monopoly, hoarding and inflation
No more the love for foreign lands and goods
To the detriment of the homeland
No more insecurity, hate speech and division
No more fraud, immorality, tribalism and mediocrity
No more laziness, vain speech and promises
No more the birth of the almajirai and abandoned projects
No more the suit, cassock and agbada ministers of poverty!
The United States greases the slippery palm of Iran.
Who frolics in the frying pan with Hamas and Hezbollah.
Who vow to destroy Israel and the United States of America.
The United States provides Ammo and Camo to Israel.
Who are at war with Hamas and Hezbollah.
This is the reason no country can trust us.
United States foreign policy is really about foreign folly.
The defense contractors and their pals on capitol thrill.
Will make billions and billions off the misery of citizens.
For the sake of ratings, the media puts coexistence on the spitz.
Scores of dark forces are pulling us over the brink into oblivion.
A Winston churchill’s declaration
to a tiny nation situated in the dark continent
due to its magnificence and sight capturing habitat
only matched by the electrifying effect of its hospitality.
A country where wealth has long made a short call
and yet to return to where it is needed.
Starvation on Boda-bodas, perambulating across its communities
as a longing for good life is never satisfied.
Yet happiness supersedes lack
on a nation which is tree loving;
a global competitor in Bananas, pineapples and Avocados
and a home to extinction-kissing Gorillas.
Satisfaction from pan fried grasshoppers
equates the appetizing feel of Italian pizzas and Turkish Donas.
Gender division of labour quite one-sided
where men are roof installers and women, the actual builders.
No wonder, female engineers and contractors
have long attracted the norm in a society
which is in love with Bicycles
and buttoned by a twin dry seasons.
Bwindi and Mhahinga are major game reserves
but its stand out feature so unique
is the simple fact it’s the youngest country in the globe
with one in every two, fourteen or below.